Just Once or Twice
by planets-in-the-sky
Summary: Prompted by Jack's confession in Utopia: 'I went to her estate in the 90's. Just once or twice. Watched her growing up. Never said hello. Timelines and all that.' Rose Tyler wasn't forgotten. To Captain Jack Harkness, the first nineteen years of her life she had spent before the Doctor were the ones he wouldn't have wanted to miss for the whole entire universe.


**Just Once or Twice**

_Prompted by Jack's confession in Utopia: "I went to her estate in the 90's. Just once or twice. Watched her growing up. Never said hello. Timelines and all that." Rose Tyler wasn't forgotten. She was dead in her native world. Her family seemingly no longer existed. But to Captain Jack Harkness, the first nineteen years of her life she had spent before the Doctor were the ones he wouldn't have wanted to miss for the whole entire universe. _

* * *

**Roses - April 27th 1987**

Eyes closed and hands clenched, Captain Jack Harkness prepared for his vortex manipulator to take action. He felt the omnipotent blue flashes he was now so used to pass through him as swirls of red and black whirled through the back of his mind, momentarily blinding him. With a stumble, Jack suddenly realised that he was no longer flying through the vortex of time and space. His feet had landed heftily onto the hard concrete ground below. Letting his eyes adjust to the surprisingly blazing sunlight, he smiled with satisfaction, checking his wrist strap with hints of uncertainty, not quite believing he had made it.

_April 27th 1987._

Being a Time Agent and all, Jack knew that setting fixed coordinates into the manipulator was prohibited. No matter how many times you set the date into the watch, it would always _just_ use it as a guideline, never quite getting the plots in the correct places. The damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own. But, the fact that, on today all days, the coordinates he had set turned out to be exact made him realised just how right this truly was. It was destiny. Never mind what the Doctor may have thought. The man had left him decades before. He had left him for dead but instead, the complete opposite had happened. It seems that whatever the Doctor doesn't want can never _not_ happen.

Reaching to remove his leather jacket, Jack placed it without thought into the nearest litter bin. He wouldn't be needing that for much longer. Not in this heat. Adjusting his braces which, in his mind, were forever going to be a timeless fashion statement thanks to _him_ and him alone, he let his eyes wander over his surroundings. The sky was clear from clouds as the sun shone down tenderly onto the many people below it. Meaningless chatter became apparent to Jack as he looked around for the more finer details. Stood before him in a brick case was the place he had scheduled to land by in the first place. A bold, red cross-like shape stood out against the front of the building. A sign reading _South London Infirmary_ met his eye-line and at once, Jack felt himself become increasingly more unsteady.

It was reaching onto noon. In an hour, the world would became a better place. A defender was to be born. _The_ defender of _their_ world and all the other worlds they were yet to even know of. Pacing nervously towards to the hospital entrance, Jack couldn't help but let a slight spring trail in his step. He was excited. He was fearful. But most of all, he know he had to careful. _Timelines, Jack,_ he heard the Doctor's would-be warning echo through the depths of his mind. Mess with timelines, and the whole universe would suffer. Things could shatter. Events would take place that never should. Meetings that are essential could never even happen. He had to be judicious with this. This wasn't just a game. He was playing with a life. Rose Tyler's life. To him, screwing it up was not an option. He would not be held responsible for her downfall. He had to get this right. She was too important. She was too important to _him_.

* * *

With his head in his hands, Pete Tyler let out a sigh of teeming contentment. Adjusting his position on the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chair, he allowed himself to cry. They were tears of happiness; tears of relief. He truly was overwhelmed; at peace within himself. In a room ten yards away from the corridor in which he was sat in, his wife lay tucked up inside a bed recovering from the traumatic and yet utterly wonderful experience she had just been through. Beside her in a cot, a tiny baby girl lay pink and sleeping. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on; and she was _his_. His whole world. His and Jackie's pride and joy.

As he lifted his head back up from their place in his palms, Pete's eyes were immediately drawn to the man stood at the end of the corridor. He wore a stainless white t-shirt complete with red braces and a pair of black, spotless suit trousers. He was, quite literally, a walking innuendo. It couldn't have been anyone other than Jack himself.

With a smile, he looked over to were the new dad was sitting; still slightly in a form of shock. In the shop along the way, Jack had picked up a package. Flowers. _Roses_. Because after all, who visits somebody in hospital without baring gifts? From what he had heard, Jackie Tyler was not the type of woman who would appreciate nothing but an acknowledgment. The thought would be the last thing that counted in her mind. Especially after the five hours of painful labour she had just been through.

"Pete Tyler?"

To the sound of his name, Pete automatically rose from his seat and held out his hand to Jack for him to shake. He was too overwrought for questions; too speechless for confusion.

"Yes—yes, that's me."

Jack smiled proudly, extending out his free hand to grip Pete's in a firm shake.

"Please to meet ya, Pete Tyler!" he brimmed. "Really pleased to meet ya!"

Releasing the older man's hand (by looks, that is), Jack held out the roses for Pete to take. Shaking his head in an act of bewilderment, it seemed that Pete's senses had finally arose back to life.

"Sorry, mate, I don't mean to sound rude or anything but—do I know you?" he asked warily.

Jack wanted to kick himself. _Hard_. Instead, he could feel himself cringing inside. He'd never met Pete before and Pete had never met him. He had come here to this South London hospital in the effort to congratulate the Tyler couple on the birth of their beautiful baby daughter and the astounding women she would grow up to become. He really hadn't thought this through properly. Neither parent knew him. Even Rose didn't; not yet. She was barely an hour old.

Cowering back slightly, Jack felt a slight blush work it's way up his cheeks. With a sheepish grin, he began to dig himself out of the seemingly endless hole he had just created for himself:

"Of course, you don't. Sorry," he replied apologetically. Pete could tell he was being sincere through the solemness of his tone. "You see I'm here on behalf of an old friend. 'Said Jackie Tyler was due to give birth today. A little girl, he said. She was gonna have a little baby girl. Your first?"

Pete nodded, a grin of his own breaking out onto his face from ear to ear.

"Yeah, she is," he confirmed proudly. "And she was. A little girl. _Our_ little girl. Oh, you should see 'er. She's perfect. Absolutely, one 'undred and ten percent _perfect_."

If he was given the time, Pete would blissfully ramble on about his new born daughter until his hearts content. Hours would pass and still, Jack could tell that Pete would continue to prattle on. There'd be no stopping him. And quite rightly so too.

"I can imagine she is," Jack agreed, his mind flashing back to images of blonde curls, chocolate eyes and toothy smiles. He already knew that she was.

With a heavy heart, it only took him a couple of seconds to realise that Pete was going to miss out on all of that. He'd never get to see the full extent of his daughter's beauty. However, Jack disallowed himself to think of thoughts like those. Not now. It wasn't the right time. He couldn't. This was a happy moment; a treasured moment of what wonderfulness life can bring. He'd let Pete have this one. It was one of the only ones Jack knew he would have left. Soon enough, he'd find out what the complete opposite of perfection is. But right now, Jack wasn't willing to spoil that. _Timelines and all that. _

"I'm not here to see her, though," he spoke after a lengthy pause. Pete visibly creased his brow in confusion. "I'm just here to pass on the gift."

He held the flowers up with caution.

"If you want them, that is," he added kindly.

After a moment of studying them, Pete reached to take the roses from Jack's hand. He brought the red buds to his nose, inhaling their heavenly scent before exhaling and shooting Jack a look of gratitude.

"Thank you," he said, flabbergasted. You could tell he wasn't used to this type of thing. "I'm sure Jacqs'll love 'em. I've got one question for ya, though."

Jack smiled, half-convinced he knew what was coming next. "Fire away."

"Why roses?" queried Pete and suddenly, Jack realised the mistake he had made.

The colour of his face immediately drained to a peaky grey. _You foolish, foolish man,_ he scolded. Roses were inappropriate no matter how ironic they might have been. He could've bought daffodils or pansies or petunias—but _no_. He took the difficult route; the risky route. With a ducked head, Jack messaged his temples, desperately fishing around that puny brain of his for an at least half-decent excuse. However, he found no avail.

"'Cause I mean roses are for like dates 'n that," Pete spoke up. Jack was perpetually grateful for this means of escape and smiled politely as the new dad continued to vent out his thoughts. "I only ever get 'em for Jacq's on Valentines Day 'n birthdays. Or when I've done something wrong. _Properly_ wrong, though. But you're not from round 'ere, I'm guessing. Right?"

Jack couldn't help but smirk "The accent."

He seemed to have forgotten that full-on Americans were few and far between in the days of 1980's Britain. He adjusted his braces for what felt like the one hundredth time that day - it was a force of habit; a nervous one he seemed to have picked up on his travels - before running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," confirmed Pete. "You're a long way from home?"

"You could say that."

Home sickness was something Jack was forever putting off. He rarely ever thought of where he belonged; where he _really_ belonged. Pete was unknowingly correct. The twentieth century was a long way from the fifty-first; Jack _was_ a long way from 'home'.

"That explains," Pete replied. "Roses are unusual for these types of occasions here."

"Meaning that I'm an unusual sort of man."

Both men shared a nod of agreement. Pete would never know, again, how appropriate that statement was to describe Jack.

"Right then! 'Best be off."

This sudden announcement from Jack took both men by surprise. He was so close to Rose that he could almost reach out to touch her. But, he couldn't. He knew this. And he also knew that Pete, despite his talkative fondness and agitated behaviour, was desperate to see his daughter again. He was just too polite to voice these thoughts aloud.

"Okay then," Pete accepted briefly. "Thank you for the flowers."

"It's my pleasure."

Unable to resist the urge to display his usual salute of farewell, Jack brought his right hand up to his head; back straight and face serious. With a nervous laugh, Pete held up his own in the form of a slight wave. Realising that this probably wasn't his greatest move, Jack hesitantly brought his arm back down to his side.

"Goodbye Pete Tyler," he spoke solemnly. "And congratulations. She's a diamond, I'm sure."

Before Pete was even able to give a worthy reply, Jack had gone. Down the corridor and through the double-doored exit, it didn't take him long to set his manipulator to his next stop.

_November 7th 1987._

* * *

Pete, still stood dazed in the hospital corridor, gave off a small cackle of utter disbelief and turned his attention back to the roses. He felt strange; a unidentifiable sense of curiosity picked at his brains. This man - this '_unusual sort of man_' - felt so familiar to him. They had never even met before and probably never would again, and yet Pete couldn't help but trust him; engage in a conversation with him; _sympathise_ with him when sympathy was the only feeling he felt appropriate. He didn't even know the man's name.

With the roses now tucked neatly underneath his arm, Pete strolled as casually as possible towards Jackie's hospital room, his breath baited. He really didn't want to wake her. However, as he cautiously pulled back the door, Pete immediately walked in to find his wife sat up in bed (despite the doctor's many protests for her to get some sleep) in her insipid hospital gown with their tiny bundle of joy wrapped up in a cream blanket to chest protectively.

"How you baring up?"

Placing the flowers down on the edge of the bed, Pete went and sat beside her on a near-by chair. Despite the fact that she was now drained both mentally and physically, Pete couldn't help but find Jackie beautiful. _As beautiful as ever._ She was glowing visibly, and even though her dampened hair was stuck to her face in all directions and a day's worth of mascara was smeared down her cheeks in uneven clumps, he had never seen her look so happy. _Or natural. _

"She's beautiful."

Jackie looked up to her husband with glazed over eyes. He grinned loon-like at her in agreement before reaching out to kiss both his wife and his daughter's foreheads in turn. They were a family now. There was no room for petty squabbles or financial woes; this was it.

With their baby still held close to her chest, Jackie manoeuvred herself in the bed to become more comfortable.

"I'm knackered," she groaned as her muscles resisted to even the smallest of movements.

Resisting the urge to chuckle aloud at her transparency, Pete felt her forehead with a concerned expression on his face.

"You are," he observed, pulling his hand away. "But I guess that's a small price to pay for this little one."

The baby chirped in a language unknown to the adults. They both giggled, their laughs laced with brimming pride.

"I just can't believe it, Jacqs," Pete commented. "She's—_ours_. And she's perfect."

Jackie smiled in unspoken agreement.

"She is," she replied automatically. "Though I don't know why she had to make an appearance to the world two weeks early. 'Didn't get chance to finalise 'er a name, did we?"

For the past month and a half now - though Pete swore it had been longer than that; it certainly _felt_ like it - Jackie's favourite topic of conversation had been baby names. Almost right from the beginning, the couple had known their child was going to be a girl. The first scan had confirmed this though Jackie's suspicions arose from a particular trip to Blackpool for one of her mate's hen parties almost five years before. Once there, Jackie had took a reading from a fortune teller who had said, and Pete can quote the exact words, that Jackie and 'partner' were to have a daughter as their first born. She would grow to be a fighter; a tower of strength. How true this was, Pete and Jackie were yet to know. Jack, however, had always known differently.

"Well, what were you thinking?" prompted Pete.

Jackie's personal favourites had always been Patience, Claire, Beverley and Laura. Not your usual names to say the least, but Pete certainly wasn't expecting—

"Marion," she replied, bold as brass, as though it was the most natural thing in the whole of the world.

Pete almost chocked on thin air. _Marion? As in my mother-in-law from hell, Marion?_ Holding himself back, he smiled falsely. He knew better than to get on the wrong side of Jackie this early into their daughter's life.

"Really?" he asked, his facial expression unwavering. "Because I thought you were quite keen on—"

"No." Jackie was adamant. "I'm calling her Marion. And not just after my Mam. It's a lovely name, _Marion_. What's wrong with that?"

Swallowing audibly, Pete rested his head in his hands for a second before beginning to speak again.

"Nothing's wrong with it, darling," he assured; knowing he was treading on a layer of very thin ice here. "As lovely as it is, 'Marion Tyler' doesn't exactly have the same ring to it as something like—well, I don't know—something like—" Doing whatever possible to avoid his wife's eye-line, Pete scanned the room vigorously for a distraction. As he gazed upon the nearest item to the chair in which he was sat upon, he almost bubbled with excitement as the words of what was in front of him escaped his lips. "Rose!"

Jackie shot him an unimpressed look. "Rose?"

Signalling towards the flowers on the edge of the bed, Pete smiled cheerfully.

"Yeah—Rose. Rose Tyler."

Showing ignorance towards her husband's felicitous suggestion, Jackie tutted and shook her head with disbelief.

"Where on earth did you get those from?" she asked incredulously.

"Jackie, love, now is not the time."

Reaching out to take her free hand, Pete looked her squarely in the eye. This shut her up.

"What do you think of the name, _Rose_? I'm being serious, you know. 'Don't think I've ever been more serious in my life," he admitted.

"I suppose it _does_ have a bit of a ring to it—" Jackie was reluctant, but the fact that she was even considering it caused Pete's heart rate to increase with excitement.

"A much better one than 'Marion Tyler', eh?" Pete joked along before cowering back slightly. Jackie was not amused.

"Rose Tyler." She spoke as if she were trying out the name - seeing how it felt on her lips; how it sounded to her ears. "Rose Tyler."

Continuing to speak the name for a couple of more times longer, Jackie stopped with a brimming smile of her own portrayed onto her face.

"Yes?"

Pete could barely believe it. He could barely believe it at all.

"Yes," Jackie confirmed. "Say hello to your Daddy, Rose Tyler."

With wide eyes, Pete watched in amusement as Rose reached her hand up to latch onto his thumb. The contrast in size and colour between the father and daughter's hands were far too much for Pete to apprehend. It was the most wonderful of moments. Silence fell upon the room; the only murmur to be heard was the sound of soft breathing. However, the silence didn't last long. Jackie found this quiet time as an opportunity to remind Pete exactly who wore the trousers in their relationship. With a smirk, she spoke with clear confidence:

"She may be called Rose Tyler, but she still needs a middle name—how about Marion?"

Pete shouldn't have expected anything different.

* * *

**A/N:** Another fic from me, that's hardly surprising. I hope you liked it. It's different from my usual type of ficcage but it's something I've always wanted to explore ever since I first watched Utopia. In case you haven't already realised/know, _November 7th 1987,_ was the day Pete died. The next one-shot in this sequence will be of that day - if I get enough interest and people actually _want_ to read it, that is. I'm going to leave this as completed for now. Also, I've experimented here with writing in the accents. If it doesn't fit or you hate it or whatever, please don't hesitate to let me know. Reviews both good _and_ bad (constructive critisim only, mind) would really mean a lot to me.

**:) **


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